CHAPTER XXI.
"EVOLVING A THEORY."
"And you want me to go to New Orleans?" says Carnes, as he rises slowly,and stretches himself up to his fullest height, following up his wordswith an immense yawn. "What for, now?"
He has listened so attentively, so silently, with such moveless,intelligent eagerness, that I forgive him the yawn, and treat myself toa long breath of restfulness and relief, at being at last unburdened ofthis great secret, and he crosses the room and drops into his favoriteattitude beside the window that overlooks the fast darkening street.
"I hardly know just what I expect you to unearth in New Orleans," Ianswer, after a pause of some moments. "But I have a notion that thelinks we have failed to find here may be in hiding down there."
Carnes plunges his hands deep down into his pockets. I know, from theintentness of his face, and the unwinking fixedness of the eyes thatstare yet see nothing beyond the panorama conjured by his ownimagination, that he is studying diligently at the Groveland problem;and I sit silently, waiting his first movement, that I feel sure will bespeedily followed by something in the way of an opinion.
"It's a queer muddle," he says at last, coming back to his chair anddropping into his former attitude of interested attention. "It's a queermuddle; and, it seems to me, you have got hold of the wrong end of thebusiness."
"How the wrong end?"
"Why, you have your supposed principals and accessories, and, perhaps,the outline of a plot; but where is your _motive_?"
"Where, indeed! I have not even found a theory that suits me, although Ihave pondered over various suppositions. You are good at this sort ofanalysis, Carnes. Can't you help me to some sort of a theory that won'tbreak of its own weight?"
Carnes bit his under lip and pondered.
"How far have you got?" he asked, presently.
"I will tell you how I have reasoned thus far. Experience andstatistics have proved that, of all the missing people, male and female,whose dead bodies are never found, or whose deaths are neversatisfactorily proven, more than three-fourths have eventually turned upalive, or it is found they _have_ lived many years after they werenumbered among the missing. In the majority of cases, say four to one,where missing persons, supposed to have been dead, are proved to bealive, it is also proved that they have 'disappeared' of their own freewill. In the list of missing young girls, the police records show thattwo-thirds of those supposed to have been murdered or abducted, haveeloped or forsaken their friends of their own free will. Let us keep inmind these statistics and begin with Nellie Ewing. Was she murdered? Wasshe forcibly abducted? Did she run away?"
"Umph! If _she_ were a man I might venture an opinion," broke in Carnes.
"Let us see. She left her house at sunset, riding a brown pony, andintent, or seeming so, upon visiting her friend, Grace Ballou."
"Grace Ballou--oh!" Carnes lifts his head, then drops it again, quickly.
I note the gesture and the ejaculation, and smile as I proceed.
"She had announced her intention of spending the night with her friendGrace, but instead of so doing, she is suddenly afflicted with aheadache, and, at dusk, or perhaps even later, she sets out, on herbrown pony, for home, a distance of about four miles."
"Um--ah!" from Carnes.
"She is not seen after that. Neither is the brown pony. Was shemurdered? If so, no trace of her body, no clue to her murderer, nomotive for the deed, has been discovered. And the horse; if she wasmurdered, was the horse slaughtered also? And were they both buried inone grave? She was riding alone, after nightfall, over a country road.She might have been assailed by tramps or stragglers of some sort, butthe first investigation proved that nothing in the form of tramp, orstranger of any sort, had been seen about Groveland, neither on that daynor for many days previous. And again, a tramp who might have killed herto secure the horse, would hardly have tarried to conceal the body soeffectually that the most thorough search could not bring it to light.Nor would he have carried it with him beyond the reach of search. Wasshe murdered for revenge, or from motives of jealousy? Then, in allprobability, the brown horse would have been found wandering somewhereat large."
"It won't do," mutters Carnes, half to himself, and with a slow wag ofthe head; "it won't do."
"That's what I said to myself, after reviewing the pros and cons of the'murder theory.' Now, was Nellie Ewing abducted? She _may_ have been,but, again, there's the missing horse. If a tramp or a horse-thief wouldtake the horse, and leave the girl, a desperate lover would just assurely take the girl and leave the horse. Again, an avaricious lover_might_, with some difficulty, secure both horse and rider, but he couldhardly travel far with an unwilling girl and a stolen horse, withoutbecoming uncomfortably conspicuous. Did the young lady elope? If so,then it is my belief that she and her horse parted company very soonafter she left the widow Ballou's. And here ends my theorizing. How, andwhy, and whither, the horse was spirited away, I can not guess."
"If the thing had occurred in Trafton," says Carnes, thoughtfully, "onemight account for the horse."
"True; but as it did not occur within the limit of the Traftonoperations, I naturally concluded that, if the young lady really didabscond, her lover must have had a confederate who took charge of thehorse. But, at first, this seemed to me improbable."
"Why improbable?"
"Because I did not view the matter, as you do now, in the light of afterdiscoveries and developments."
"Then you think now that Miss Ewing eloped?"
"I think she was not murdered; and the elopement theory is much moreplausible, more reasonable, all things considered, than that ofabduction. First of all, there are the movements of the girl herself.Supposing her quartered for the night with her friend Grace, 'SquireEwing felt no uneasiness at her absence, even when it was prolonged intothe second day. Might she not have considered all this when she plannedher flight? When she was actually missed, she had two days the start ofher inquiring friends."
"True."
"Then, not long after, Mamie Rutger, a friend and schoolmate of themissing Nellie, also disappears. While it is yet daylight, or at leasthardly dark, she vanishes from her father's very door-step, and is seenno more. Now, let me call your attention to some facts. Farmer Rutger'shouse stands on a bit of rising ground; the road runs east and west. Tothe east of the house is a thick grove of young trees planted as awind-break for the cattle. This belt of trees begins at the front of thehouse and extends northward, the house being on the north side of thehighway, past the barns, cow stables, and sheep pens. So while a personin the front portion of the house, on the porch or in the door-yard, canobtain a clear view of the road to the west, those farther back, in thekitchen, the stables, or the milking sheds, are shut off from a view ofthe road by the wind-break on the one hand, by a high orchard hedge onthe other, and by the house and thick door-yard shrubbery in front. Forover an hour, on the night of her disappearance, Mamie Rutger was theonly person within view of this highway. The hired girl was in thekitchen washing up the supper things. Mrs. Rutger, who, by-the-by, isMiss Mamie's step-mother, was skimming milk in the cellar, and Mr.Rutger, with the two hired men, were watering and feeding the stock andmilking the cows. When the work for the night was done and the lampswere lighted, if they thought of Mamie at all it was as sitting alone onthe front piazza, or perched in her chamber window up-stairs, enjoyingthe quiet of the evening. It was only when their early bed-time camethat the girl's absence, and more than that, her unusual silence, wasnoted, and that a search proved her missing. Was _she_ murdered? Thattheory in this case is so unreasonable that I discard it at once."
Carnes nodded his head approvingly.
"Was she abducted? Possibly; but to my mind, it is not probable. MamieRutger was a gypsyish lassie, pretty as a May blossom, skittish as acolt, hard to govern and prone to adventurous escapades. Her father waskind and her step-mother meant to be so, but the latter perpetuallyfrowned down the girl's innocent hilarity, and curbed her gayety, whenshe could, with a
stern hand. They sent her to school to tame her, andthe faculty, after bearing with her, and forgiving her many mischievouspranks because of her youth, at last sent her home in disgrace,expelled. If this girl, wearied of a humdrum farmhouse existence andthirsting for a broader glimpse of the gay outer world, had planned anelopement or runaway escapade, she could have chosen no better time.While all the others are busy at their evening task, she, from thefront, watches for a swift horse and a covered buggy, which comes fromthe west. Sure that no eyes are looking, she awaits it at the gate,springs in, with a backward glance, and when she is missed, is milesaway."
"Yes, I see," comments Carnes, dryly; "it's a pity your second sightcouldn't keep 'em in view till ye see where they land."
I curb my imagination. That useful quality is deficient in the craniumof my comrade; he can neither follow nor sympathize.
"Well, here is the condensed truth for you," I reply, amiably: "forthis much we have ocular and oral testimony: Four young ladies attendschool at Amora; all are pretty, under the age of discretion, and, withperhaps one exception, little versed in the ways of the world and itswickedness. During their sojourn at school, where they are not underconstant discipline owing to the fact that they all board outside of theSeminary, and all together, they are much in the society of four youngmen, two of whom are students of the Seminary. This quartette of youthsare more or less good looking, and all of them notably 'gay andfestive,' after the manner of the stereotyped young man of the period."
"Right you are now," ejaculated Carnes.
"Just how these gentlemen divided their affections or attentions," Icontinue, "it is difficult to say, in regard to all. We know that Mr.Johnny La Porte was the chosen cavalier of Miss Ewing, and that ArchBrookhouse and Amy Holmes were frequently seen in each other's society.We are told that the eight young people formed frequent pleasureparties; riding, picnicking, passing social evenings together.
"They leave school; their jolly companionship is over. By-and-by,Nellie Ewing disappears; a little later, Mamie Rutger is also missing;after a little time the other two young ladies are caught in the act ofescaping from home, by the means of a ladder placed at their chamberwindow by an unknown man, while a second, it is supposed, awaits theircoming with horses and vehicle. This much for the ladies of thisoctette. Now, upon inquiring after the whereabouts of the gentlemen, wefind that upon the night of this last named escapade, Johnny La Porte,with his buggy and horses, was absent from home from sunset until aftermidnight. That he returned when all the household was asleep, andsecuring some clean handkerchiefs and a flask of brandy, ostensibly todoctor a sick horse, he again goes, and returns after an absence of twodays, accompanied by another member of the octette, Mr. Ed. Dwight."
"That's a point," assented Carnes.
"Now, we have previously learned," I resume, "that said Dwight is aboutto abandon his old trade and quit the country. We also remember thatMrs. Ballou shot at, and believes she hit, the man who was assisting herdaughter and guest to escape from the house. Very good. During the timethat Johnny La Porte is absent from his home, Mr. Louis Brookhouse isbrought home to Trafton, in a covered buggy, by some unknown friend,with a crippled limb!"
"I see; that's a clincher," muttered Carnes.
"This much for three of the gay Lotharios," I continue. "Now for ArchBrookhouse. In Grace Ballou's autograph album is a couplet, very neatlyprinted and signed A. B. It bears date one year back, and one year agoGrace Ballou and Arch Brookhouse were both students at Amora. Not longsince I received an interesting letter of warning, and I believe it waswritten by the same hand that indited the lines beginning 'I drink tothe eyes of my schoolmate, Grace.'"
Carnes opened his lips, but I hurried on.
"I have noted one other thing, which, if you like, you may callcoincidence of latitude. The eldest of the Brookhouse brothers is aresident of New Orleans. At about the time of Nellie Ewing'sdisappearance, Louis Brookhouse went to New Orleans, returning less thantwo weeks ago. Amy Holmes is vaguely described as being 'somewhereSouth,' and Ed. Dwight meditates a Southern journey soon."
"It looks like a league," says Carnes, scratching his head, andwrinkling his brows in perplexity. "Are they going to form a colony ofsome new sort? What's your notion?"
"My notion is that we had better not waste our time trying to guess outa motive. Consider the language of the telegram sent by Fred Brookhouseto his brother, and the reply to it, and then reflect upon the possiblemeaning of both. The New Orleans brother says:
Hurry up the others, or we are likely to have a balk.
"Arch answers:
Next week L---- will be on hand.
"Hurry up the others! What others? Why are they likely to have a'balk?' Are the two missing girls _there_, in charge of Fred Brookhouse,and are they becoming restive at the non-appearance of the others? Ifthey had succeeded in escaping, would Grace Ballou and Amy Holmes havegone to New Orleans in company with Louis Brookhouse?"
"By Saint Patrick, I begin to see!" cried Carnes.
"The telegram sent by Arch," I resume, "implies that Louis was alreadyhere, or near here. Yet he made his first appearance at his father'shouse two days later. Is Ed. Dwight going to New Orleans to embrace the'heel and toe business,' under the patronage of Fred Brookhouse, who, itis said, is connected with a theater? Is Johnny La Porte in hiding atAmora? or has he already 'gone to join the circus?'"
Carnes springs suddenly to his feet.
"By the powers, old man, I see how it looks to you;" he cries, "an'ye've got the thing by the right end at last. I'll go to New Orleans;only say when. But," here his face lengthens a little, "ye must getWyman, or some one else, here in my place. I wish we had got that horserendezvous hunted down."
"As to that," I respond, "give yourself no uneasiness; I believe that Ihave found the right place, and to-night I mean to confirm mysuspicion."
Carnes stares astonished.
"How did you manage it?" he asks, "and when?"
"Two days ago, and by accident. You will be surprised, Carnes. It is abarn."
"It is?"
"A lead-colored barn, finished in brown."
"_What?_"
"It is large, and nearly square," I hasten to say, enjoying his markedamazement. "A large stack of hay is pitched against the rear end,running the length of it. It has a cupola and a flagstaff."
Carnes simply stares.
"I will send for Wyman if I need his help. What I am studying upon nowis a sufficient pretext for sending you away suddenly."
"I'll furnish that," Carnes says, with a droll roll of his eye."To-morrow I'll get drunk--beastly drunk. You shall inquire after meabout the hotel and at Porter's. By-and-by I will come into the officetoo drunk to be endurable. You must be there to reprimand me. I growinsolent; you discharge me. I go away somewhere and sleep off theeffects of my spree. You pay me my wages in the presence of the clerk,and at midnight I board the train _en route_ for the Sunny South. Youshall hear from me----"
"By telegraph," I interrupt. "We shall have a new night operator herewithin the week. I arranged for that when I was in the city, and wrotethe old man, yesterday, to send him on at once."
"All right; that's a good move," approved Carnes.
"And now," I said, rising hastily, and consulting my watch, "I must go.To-night, or perhaps in the 'small hours,' we will talk over mattersagain, and I will explain myself further. For the present, good-by; I amexpected to-night at the Hill; I shall pass the evening in the societyof Miss Manvers."